


Hearts on Thin Ice

by RIC (prussia)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Bittersweet, Comedy, Ice Skating, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-02-28 08:02:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2724827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prussia/pseuds/RIC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A trip to a skating rink gives Austria and Prussia a chance to be more than just 'old friends'. </p><p>Recalling the Cold War era, and long-ago sent love letters, the two approach the ice with Prussia wondering if Austria even knows how to skate!</p><p>If not, perhaps Prussia can teach him...or at least catch him, should Austria slip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hearts on Thin Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Written December 5th, 2014, for a Winter Art Challenge on tumblr.
> 
> PruAus short story; not as heavy on the holiday-theme, as the other Winter fics I've written lately.
> 
> Trigger Warning for Blood.

In a dark parking lot, packed with vehicles, a car door flung open, and out stepped Austria from the driver's seat. His tall boots (a new pair, if you can believe it; believe the cheapskate sprang for a new pair, and they weren't even on sale!) crunched gravel as he stood on the pavement, and stretched. Groaning a bit, after a long day spent working (if you can believe that, too).

He tugged at the bottom hem of his long wool coat. White wool, and a violet scarf to compliment his eyes. Fidgeting with it, and staring about the parking lot. Looking for his old friend; a familiar car, and a familiar face. A date? Not in Austria's mind -- of course not! Why on earth would it be -- but what about the other man? Did he think this was a date??

A game, most likely. Prussia thought everything was a game, and surely this was just another example of playtime; another excuse to pass the time, making fun of Austria, but trying to make it fun for him, sure, by being his usual playful self. Silliness, and boisterousness. Prussia would never grow up; never grow old. Never die.

At least Austria wouldn't either. And there was comfort to be had, in such thoughts. Comfort in an eternal life. Most nights. Some nights, though, didn't the air get lonely. The air of his home -- his dark and empty home -- and maybe it was nice to be out of the house for once; out of the house for the first time in a week, and he was glad to have something to do; something to look forward to. Something to keep him afloat. - An excuse to buy a new pair of boots.

'And what a silly reason to make a purchase!' Austria thought, suddenly regretting his compulsive decision to order the boots online. Rush delivery. Super fast (but hey, it was free!) shipping. A pair of lace-up boots; brown leather, with blue-and-white striped spats to fit over them, or under them, or...however such fancy accoutrements are affixed to an overpriced pair of footwear.

Striped spats running the entire length of the boots, buttoned-up the side, and Austria peered down at them, lifting one foot, twisting his ankle one way and then the other, to get a better look at them, on his feet, and in action. To see what they looked like in the night, and make sure the pavement hadn't stained them.

Clean and decent appearance. A well-dressed and still-fit man, despite his tendency to stay home most days and most nights; his preference to stay indoors most of the time. And he'd play his piano for hours while barefoot. In a bathrobe. In silk pajamas, or even a corset, if he were drunk. Sipping peppermint schnapps, or swigging from a mug of spiked coffee -- spiked with chocolate or hazelnut liqueur -- and at least the holidays lent itself to such festive drinks; sweetness, and drunkenness. Lingering about in his music room, getting drunk, and playing the piano. Sitting on the bench, in a corset and bare-assed, and...maybe Austria had weird habits. Maybe Austria was a bit of a hedonist.

But he was happy to be away from the music room, for once; happy to see Prussia -- if only he could find him!

And Austria paced through the parking lot, outside the skating rink. Paced through the parking lot, carefully; stepping with his new boots in mind; not wanting to spoil the spats.

He peered about at the little red and green pennant flags hanging from a long string, like a clothesline, affixed to the streetlights. Small flags hung, and blowing in the cool night breeze. Early December, and the night was chilly, and Austria wrapped his arms about his body; hugging himself, and wishing he had worn more layers underneath his wool coat.

Glasses he didn't need, yet he couldn't quite see if Prussia's vehicle was parked in the crowded lot, or not. He passed car after car, looking into interiors; looking for a small plush panda bear, hanging from a rearview mirror. For a white cigarette lighter with a black cross on it, lying on a dashboard. For a car with a stack of books in its passenger seat.

The orangish glow of the streetlights reflected off the windows and back-dashes of the cars, making it difficult to spy into them, and hell, if anyone were watching, they'd think Austria was looking for a car to steal!

As if a well-dressed man such as himself would be a carjacker. No, not a refined hedonist in spats. Ha, Austria thought. Who would think such a thing? No one in their right mind, but...

"You're out here creeping in the parking lot like a thief!" came a voice from behind him.

Austria turned, shooting a sharp gaze over his shoulder, and sure enough...

"Prussia!" he said, and drew a deep breath. "You scared me."

Austria sighed in relief, and smiled a slight smile. "It's about time you got here," he added.

Prussia smirked, and cocked his head. His old green coat looked more pitiful than ever. Tattered edges, and the fur about the collar matted, and the patched-up sleeves were moth-bitten. Useless against the cold weather, but did Prussia care? Of course not. He'd wear that damn old green coat 'til it fell apart at the seams.

"You were worried about me," Prussia said. "Well, good!" he gushed. "It's nice to see you worried about _me_ , for once."

Austria stepped towards him; closing the small distance between them, for Prussia had been lurking about, hiding behind cars and watching his old 'friend'. Watching from a safe distance; spying on him, as Austria spied into vehicles.

Prussia wondering, 'Why is Austria looking for me in some stranger's backseat?!'

And he had laughed to himself, watching and waiting...hoping to jump out and scare Austria, but...Prussia had enjoyed the sight of the man from a distance. A safe distance. Wanting to observe just how Austria acts when no one is looking. When Austria _thinks_ no one is looking! And Prussia thought it best _not_ to jump out and scare his old friend. What if he scolded him? What if he hit him?! - It would ruin the entire night. - A night Prussia, too, had looked forward to all week. A trip to the ice skating rink! - 'And we can skate together, Austria!!' Prussia had spoke on the phone, a week ago, and 'Since you probably don't know how to skate - since you're probably too clumsy to stay upright - the great and awesome Prussia will just have to teach you! - I can do anything!! - I'll teach you so well, you can be an Olympic figure skater by next season!!'

Austria studied the old coat, and let his gaze linger down to Prussia's dark pants, and his ugly old boots. Combat boots: still a soldier in his mind. Wearing black lace-up boots leftover from God knows which war.

"You're not dressed very well," Austria said, sniffing, and fussing with his outfit again.

"That's what you were worried about?" Prussia asked, and he scoffed, "I thought you imagined maybe I was lost somewhere! - Like you're always lost, Austria," and he whimpered as if truly hurt by Austria's lack of concern. "I thought maybe you were scared I couldn't find this place, and would never show up! - What if I ruined our whole first date??"

Austria's eyes went wide. "You never said this was a date, Prussia!!" And his mouth hung agape, peering about frantic, as if worried someone in the otherwise empty parking lot would somehow overhear! - Perhaps ghosts were listening. Perhaps the poltergeist of dead kings or fallen empires were lurking about; lingering on the threshold of the skating rink. The bustling outdoor rink, with a fence around it. A fence outlaid with orange-glowing streetlights; with Christmas-colored pennant flags swaying in the wind as if sleepy. And on the other side of the fence, blocked from the view of the two shivering old friends, were at least fifty ice skaters, gliding along, or pirouetting, or stumbling like drunks, slapping to the ice with crushed spirits and cracked bones: depending on their skill level. Their talent, and ability to balance on something as slender as a knife.

"Besides," said Austria, in hopes of changing the subject, "why would I assume you were lost?" And his tone fell low, and ashamed of himself; blushing, he added, "You never get lost...you've probably never been lost in your life."

Prussia 'hmmed', as if trying to recall whether he had been lost or not, but laughed, "Stupid Austria. Of course I've never been lost!! Ha ha. I'm too awesome to get lost like YOU all the time." But he cringed at his statement, if only somewhat; a slight cringe, and he glanced away. 'Hmm'-ing again, as if wanting to rephrase his blurted and careless declaration. "I mean..."

Too late.

Austria huffed. "Well, calling me stupid on our first date," he hissed, "if this IS a date," and his chin rose, speaking with an uppity tone, "implying I'm dumb is not the best way to treat me, you know."

"No, it's probably not," laughed Prussia, waving his hand as if to say, 'All right, fine; you win this time, Austria; nope, not stupid; you know what? Forget it. Never mind.'

And all could be said by the wave of his hand, and it's a good thing Austria knew how to speak Prussian -- he knew how to understand him and his odd way of veiled communication -- because God knows, Prussia would never speak the words 'You win, Austria' aloud, and everyone knew, Prussia would never outright apologize, but...

"I'm sorry, Austria," he said, and perhaps the words were forced. Perhaps they turned his stomach a bit. "I'm really sorry," he said, and grinned. "You're not stupid. You're just..."

And Prussia outstretched his arm, offering his gloved hand. "You're just a pretty little Kitten-Face Prince who's awfully sweet to say you'd go ice skating with me."

Austria hesitated; looking down at Prussia's offering; at his gray fleece glove. And then up to Prussia's simpering grin, but...the second Austria caught glimpse of it, it faded. A childish gaze replaced by something more sincere. More serene. Some expression Austria could not quite remember nor place. No semblance to any 'look' Austria had ever witnessed Prussia exhibit in the past.

"You're...serious," Austria asked, or said, or noted to himself. As if speaking to himself. As if shocked! "You're really serious."

"Of course!" said Prussia, and damn it all, there was that grin again. "I'm seriously serious," he teased.

And waiting no longer for Austria to take his outstretched hand, Prussia grabbed ahold of Austria's leather-gloved palm. "You're going to have a great time with me tonight, Austria!" he beamed. "We're going to do figure eights, and jump through hoops, like lions in the circus!!"

"Why the circus??" Austria asked, almost laughing, but he hushed it away. Too dignified. Too well-dressed for his date. (But overdressed, he suddenly thought; regretting his precious new boots, and his pure wool coat. His hair fixed, and that arch of bangs pristine. His hair-curl slicked with gel to make sure it stayed in its place; so it wouldn't swirl into a heart-shape, should Prussia indeed dub their outing a date.)

Ah, but it was official now. Two men on a date, and they held hands as Prussia tugged Austria along through the parking lot, walking not quite side-by-side to the small outer ticket stand. To the office, where a woman sat behind a thin glass window, with a small metal circle with holes in it; much like a drive-through window, yet larger, at a fast-food restaurant, and 'May I take your order?' Prussia was sure the lady would ask.

"Two, please," Prussia said to the lady, not waiting for her to first speak. "A size 11, and..." Prussia added, then peered down at Austria's feet.

Austria noticed Prussia staring at his boots, and he smiled. "You like them?" he asked. "They're brand new!" Suddenly proud of them again.

Prussia laughed, "No, Fancy Pants. I just need to know your size."

"Oh," said Austria, and his smile disappeared. "I thought..."

"Yeah, I know what you thought," scoffed Prussia. "You thought you'd buy a new pair of snobby boots to impress me!" He winked, and withdrew his wallet. Redirecting his attention to the woman at the window. "Just give him a shiny pair of pink girly skates, yeah?" Prussia said to the lady, and nodded as if to say, 'Yes, I'm serious. - Seriously serious.'

Austria sighed. "Make them a 10, and I'll wear them." Defeated once again by Prussia's nonsense. Or so he felt.

The lady passed two tickets through the opening beneath the metal circle; through a small rectangle cut into the glass, like a mail-slot in a storefront's door. And Prussia took the tickets, and passed the money underneath his hand, lest Austria know how much the trip to the upscale skating rink was costing him. A fancy little place, secluded from the rest of the world; blocks away from the nearby shopping district; some 'hole in the wall' it appeared to be, on the outside; not on the map, and not on the mental radar of tourists; known only by the locals, and people like Prussia, who had lived in Berlin most his life.

Except for his childhood, and his days with Russia. Walled-away from his brother, and from Austria. The days when his old coat meant something special to him, and hell, it still did. The only time he didn't enjoy wearing it - the only time he felt ashamed of it - was when Austria turned up his nose at it. 'Not good enough for him,' Prussia thought. Of himself. Of the coat. Of the entire affair and evening.

"But where do we get the skates?" Prussia asked the lady.

"It's printed on the tickets," she said. "Your shoe size is written there," she added. "Just hand them to the man past the front gate."

And Prussia smiled, and said 'thanks', with a wave of his hand.

Oh how his hand could talk. - His free hand, of course; for some reason unknown to Prussia, Austria was still holding tight to the other hand. The occupied hand. And Prussia thought it nice. Warm. Comforting. - All those lovely thoughts. - Much akin to his old coat, and there was a world of comfort to be had, in things you've long known and cared for. Things which keep you warm, on the coldest nights. - In memories and nightmares surrounding your days as the east side of a country you raised, and the capital split down the middle; your heart broke in two. And Prussia had worn that old coat all throughout his days as East Germany. Prussia had daydreamed of his return to full nationhood. Prussia had imagined he'd crawl through a hole in the wall, and come out clean and free on the other side. Washed-away sin and washed-away punishment, for the punishment would be paid. And he could greet the man -- the old friend -- whose presence in his mind kept him company; whose long letters, addressed still to 'Prussia' and not to 'East Germany: a soviet-occupied country' kept him company as well. To read the words Austria sent to him, 'out of pity', Prussia was sure Austria said of the letters -- 'Oh, well I guess I'll read them,' Austria had spoke of Prussia's correspondences, 'because I feel sorry for him,' but -- Prussia knew, by the words, the tone, the poetic language Austria used in his letters, it meant more to him than he'd let on. The ol' smug prince. The uppity creature. 'Always thinking he's better than me.' But didn't Austria write 'I love you'?

Perhaps not in those exact and precious words, but...a signature of 'Love Always, Austria' was close enough. - In letters addressed to Prussia. - And surely he had saved them. To relish the sweet things Austria once said to him. When outfits and outer appearances didn't matter, for there were no witnesses to their love letters. No one watching as the pen-pals sent mail to one another, throughout the Cold War era.

Not to impress each other with snobbish boots; nor to disappoint the other, with old tattered coats, but...to comfort each other. Keep company. To say, 'I can't wait 'til you come home.'

"And your tickets, please, Sir?" said a man at the front gate. And sure enough, people were gliding, and pirouetting, and stumbling like drunks past Prussia and Austria, as they stood on the threshold of the rink. Waiting for their tickets to be filled, with two pairs of skates.

And the man at the gate ventured into a small nearby room, and returned with one pair of black skates, and one pair of pink.

"Here you are!" said the man, smiling, as he handed the skates to Prussia. Casting a confused gaze to Austria. Thinking the pink skates a bit funny, but then again...just what kind of a man wears spats in this day and age?! - He rubbed at his forehead, and shook his head, not no or yes, just sideways. "You two have a nice time," he said.

Prussia smiled, and nodded. "Oh, we will," he replied, hoping to God it wasn't a lie. Leading Austria alongside the skating rink. Alongside the ice, not too thick, nor too thin, he hoped, and wanted to lean down, and kiss the ice for good luck. To bless him. To make the night go as well as it could, and he'd be grateful as long as Austria stayed sweet-enough, in his shiny pink skates. Grateful if Austria could already skate! For now Prussia didn't want to waste time teaching him. - He wanted to get right to the good stuff. - Right to holding Austria's hand on the ice. Right to skating beside him, and with him, 'But wouldn't it be sort of romantic?' Prussia thought, should Austria fall, and bust his ass, and Prussia could take care of him?? Ha. Or maybe not take care of his ass, but then again, yes maybe, and...then his mind went into a completely different direction. Imagining Austria lying naked on his stomach, on something akin to a hospital bed, but surely it was outfitted with sheets much softer and more pleasant-scented. Surely it was perfume, or lavender soap, or just whatever frilly scent Austria peppered himself with.

Prussia leaned over and sniffed at Austria's hair as they approached a bench. A wooden bench near the edge of the ice, and Austria sat, letting go of Prussia's hand. Reaching out, assuming Prussia would pass the pair of pink skates to the well-dressed man, and he could remove his precious new boots, and strap the pink skates in their place. But...

Prussia shook his head slow, and no, and smiling. "Nope," he said. "Think again!" And he knelt to the concrete.

Prussia on his knees, and he sighed, but it was a good sigh. A tone of relief. And he unbuttoned the spats. He unzipped the boots. He slid the first shoe from Austria's leg and foot. "Like a spoiled little prince," he said. "My Spoiled Little Prince."

Austria smiled. "This is...nice," he said.

"Nicely nice," joked Prussia. Oh those awful adverbs. And he slid the other shoe from Austria's leg and foot, and let it fall to the concrete. Surely nicking the leather, or soiling the spats, but did Austria care?

He didn't pay it one ounce of attention. - Too busy gazing down at Prussia. Too busy smiling wide for what felt like the first time he had smiled genuine and sincere and serene and seriously serious all day, all week, all month, all year.

And Prussia took the pair of pink skates and unlaced them, wanting to use his teeth. And what odd things he dreamt of doing with his teeth. What odd things he enjoyed doing for his kittenish prince!

Glancing up to that kitten-face, as his fingers fumbled with the laces, and his mind returned to hospital beds. To clean, outstretched sheets. And to Austria's ass in need of tending. Ha. Of course it did...if he busted it on the ice, Prussia could play doctor, he thought, and take care of his old friend, and his old friend's assets. His refined backside. - Not that Prussia paid it much attention; of course not! Why on earth would he? Seriously serious, and not wanting to play with Austria in such a way until they at least had one (if only one) official date.

And here it was, still in its infancy. Still on its way...and what happiness it could bring! Prussia exchanging Austria's boots for a pair of pink skates, and changing his mind, thinking maybe it'd be nice if Austria _didn't_ know how to skate, and yes, could bust his ass, but ah, then he'd be in pain! And maybe that wouldn't be such a pleasant thing, for their first official date. And if Austria _were_ in pain, there'd go his hedonic nature, right out the window. To drift away in the night air, flittering off into the darkness, like a pennant flag cut loose from the string; a ghost as it's untethered from this earth, and is released onto Heaven. Like a man crawling through a hole in the wall, and can come out clean and free on the other side.

And Prussia smiled at the thought; imagining Austria stumbling about on thin or thick ice; stumbling like a drunk, and not busting his ass, nor suffering pain, but letting Prussia catch him as he falls. Letting Prussia outstretch his arms, and catch the man. Not be 'too good for him'. To be equals on the ice. - And Prussia could help Austria balance on the blades as slender as knives. - And Prussia could show Austria the 'awesome' way to skate. To teach him, and be useful, and proud of himself, as if teaching soldiers proper fighting techniques, and battlefield etiquette and war plans. Teaching as if he were Old Fritz, and he'd strike diplomatic poses, and brag, 'I knew I could show you how to stand on two legs, even when the ground beneath you is slick, and hard to manage. Hard to navigate. Always lost, Austria? Let me show you the right way. The easy way. The best way to stay in pace with me.' Skating in unison, without Austria lingering behind him; without Austria slipping, and busting his ass, for then Prussia may have to dig that old wheelchair out of Austria's attic. - No fun-time Doctor Prussia routine; no clean sweet-scented master bedroom sheets. Just Austria weighted down by a world of pain again. Just Austria crying in his dark home, and napping the day away again. Just Austria drinking in the evening, and parking his chair at the piano to play sad songs brilliant to an audience of no one again.

And Prussia finished lacing the pink pair of skates to Austria's feet. "Can you stand?" he asked.

Austria rose from the bench, and peered down at Prussia, and smiled. "Thanks to you," he said.

***

Austria stood near the bench, and watched as Prussia loosened the laces of his old combat boots, to remove and stash them underneath the seating. And he put his own skates on his own two feet.

And once he did, Prussia stood to face his old friend. "Are you ready, Fussy Pants?" he asked.

Austria nodded, and took Prussia's hand, without Prussia offering it. Grabbing his fleece-gloved hand, and he gushed a smile, and it was exciting, really; to go ice skating for the first time in years. To go ice skating, and not think about work, or money, or budgets, or deficits, or haunting things of the past, or terrifying world issues, current events, strife amongst fellow nations, or trouble within the EU. To be beside a man who no longer had those concerns. Who no longer had any trouble in the world, except for those haunting things of the past, and what can you ever do to get rid of them? Nothing short of falling through thin ice can save you.

But perhaps finding happiness in the company of an old friend. Taking his hand, and leading him, for once, onto the ice, and Austria glided across the ice just fine. An expert skater, and no, Prussia had no idea!! Seriously serious.

And Prussia laughed. "You're a regular figure skater, Austria," he said. "You skate like I dream."

Austria kept his eyes to the path ahead, and not to his feet, nor the skates, nor the ice. Not wanting to bump into anyone. Not wanting to ruin his swift stride. But he glanced over to Prussia -- to see him skating along just fine, himself. To see him gliding along as graceful as a war-torn man like Prussia could glide. Weighted by the world, and broke through a wall, and life is never quite clean nor free. Life is never easy, for memories are never erased completely. Life is never a trip to a skating rink: a pleasant distraction from a dissolved nationhood, and impending civilian-status and/or demise.

"What does that mean?" asked Austria. "I skate like you dream," he said, repeating and rephrasing. "I'm afraid I don't understand," he added, hoping to God Prussia wouldn't call him 'stupid' again.

"I just meant," Prussia said, as they skated slow alongside the outer edge of the rink, "you skate beautifully," and that last word seemed to be a hard word for Prussia to state. Caught on his tongue, and pushed past his teeth. A hard word to utter, thus it sounded so enunciated, as if he had trouble recalling its proper pronunciation. But of course he teased, "Beautifully beautiful."

And Austria squeezed at Prussia's hand, letting his gaze linger a moment longer -- a moment too long! And Austria ran his skate-blade right into the outer ledge of the skating rink. Tripping over the side, and landing face-first on the concrete. Tugging Prussia along with him for the ride.

No busted asses, just stiff arms, and sore legs, and a couple of bruises. Mostly on their egos.

"Well, thank God we're not broken!" Austria said, dusting himself off, as he stood from the concrete. Dusting, and fussing at his coat. Pulling at the hem. Glancing over to Prussia, as he too stood from the concrete, but with blood trickling from his nose clear to his chin.

"Prussia!" Austria cried. "You're bleeding!!"

And the refined and dignified man burst into tears at the sight of it. Reaching into his coat, and untying the silk jabot from his neck, he slithered it out from the underneath of his shirt collar, and wadded it up, holding it gentle beneath Prussia's nose.

"There," he said, sniffling. "Are you all right??"

Prussia nodded as well as he could, with Austria clasping the sheet of silk to his face.

He raised his hand to greet Austria's hand. To lie it atop the other. And to help hold the loving grasp - the loving gesture - With 'Love Always' Austria right within place. A convenient vicinity. A close-enough range, to reach out, and pull him close, by way of his waist; hands to the pure white coat, and Prussia wanted to pull Austria close, and kiss him, for his rare sweetness, and kindness, and care and concern. - Lost in this world. - Prussia was never lost, only injured, and broken, and would soon be lost, not _in_ this world, but lost _from_ it, forever.

Or so he feared. - Or so both men feared.

And to hell with the blood on his face! To hell with soiling the pristine man before him.

Prussia pulled at Austria's hand, letting the bloodstained silk drop to the ground, and Prussia leaned in, kissing his old friend.

And what a way to spend the evening; what a way to cap the night. Kissing on the outer edge of thin ice.

Letting his breath catch in his throat, as he was terrified to open his eyes, and see just what on earth Austria was thinking; just how he would react to their first kiss, on their first date, and with Prussia: with blood on his face.

And sure, maybe it tasted of rust, and pennies on your tongue, and smelt of something metallic, like a knife-blade, but...

Wasn't it romantic, the way Austria almost hummed. The way his hands grabbed at Prussia's old coat, and pulled him even closer. And Prussia wrapped his arms around Austria's pure white wool, and squeezed him, opening his mouth, but not his eyes, and the two appeared to be something straight from a picture postcard -- a holiday greeting card -- bought in France, for the sake of a kiss both passionate and deep, and then sent from East Germany, a defunct country, adorned with a funny little stamp, depicting a bird, From Prussia With Love, to Love Always Austria.

The two old friends; one bleeding, and one crying, and both lost in some daydream. Except now it was a reality, and who knew life could be better than all the things you imagined, to get you through your long days, and cold nights, and time spent playing a piano or pacing a wall.

Prussia broke the kiss with a smile. Yet a seriously serious gaze and tone, and, "Austria," he said. "I lied to you. - I do like your new boots."

"What a foolish thing to say," Austria scolded, expecting Prussia to proclaim something romantic; something sincere or serene, but sometimes, there's no changing two old friends. Not even a great kiss; not even a trip to a skating rink -- a pleasant escape -- can wash-away the manner in which two old friends treat one another. As old enemies. As two men who enjoy bickering. Enjoy teasing. But Austria sighed, and said, while softening his tone, and checking Prussia's nose with his finger; rubbing one leather-gloved finger at the bridge to make sure it wasn't broken or bent out of shape, "I'm glad. - I did buy them to impress you," he smiled a bit sheepish. "I just...wanted to look nice for our first official date."


End file.
